


The Key and the Waiting House

by nukablastr



Series: Sun in the Morning [2]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Coda, Episode 19x08 - Intent, F/M, Fix-It, Implied Rollisi History, M/M, Multi, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13447830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nukablastr/pseuds/nukablastr
Summary: Her heart racked against her ribs in heavy throbs, alcohol and adrenaline fighting each other for the reins as she breathed deep. One second they'd been shooting the shit, the next second some good ol' boy threw a punch at Sonny over some spilled beer, and here they were, a couple'a troublemakers wheezing in the parking lot like teenagers. She was flooded with all the times she'd been here before, gripped in the heat of a bad decision, faces obscured in the pitch dark of night without streetlights, the way the stars seemed overwhelming in their vastness.She'd be lying if she said it wasn't a goddamn thrill.--It was day before Thanksgiving, and Amanda found herself on the road with Sonny, traveling to West Virginia to track down a suspect in a catfishing case.





	The Key and the Waiting House

**Author's Note:**

> This loosely sets up [The Wound and its Worth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13274940), or at least the way I imagine that iteration of the Barisi relationship evolving through the events of the Intent episode. I struggled a little bit with tagging it, as it's a lot more friendship-oriented. 
> 
> For tobeconspicuous, who asked for my try at a fix-it. For SVU, who never makes mention of major holidays that the squad apparently works through. For my beta, who contributed a sentence, and most importantly suggested that it was Amanda's story.
> 
> I own nothing (except for some cats who are sleeping). It was mostly beta'd, so I apologize for anything missed.

The metal-edged slam of the trunk door echoed like a shot throughout the parking lot, startling Amanda from her thoughts. She was already on edge as it was; days like these that started before the sunlight and had no promise of ending counted among her least favorite parts of their job. If she was going to have be up this early, she'd almost rather have never gone to bed than to have that weak bit of sleep sloshing around behind her eyes.

Until the sound scared her, she'd been stuck in a loop of doubt, preoccupied with a fleeting thought that had struck her in the hallway of her building that morning, a momentary wave of excitement that had washed over her as she shut her apartment door. She'd been exhilarated by the prospect of an uninterrupted night of hotel sleep, but deeper still, the thrill of anonymity in a small town she'd never visit again. Smoky back rooms, baseball cap worn low, sunglasses. It was something akin to that giddy anticipation of hitting on 18, presiding over the precipice of all you stood to gain. A night to be a figure at the table instead of Detective Rollins, instead of Jesse's mom.

That stone of thought cast across her mind sunk deep where it landed and she couldn't shake it, even now, the ripples of guilt that followed. She wished she hadn't been the kind of person who thought it to begin with, because what kind of mother was she to feel excited to leave?

 "You think you got it there?" she asked Sonny, all her doubts sharpening her tone to a wicked point. "Or did it latch? You think maybe you should try it again?"

He made a face in response, appearing entirely unrepentant for the disturbance he'd caused with the slam. He'd shown up to the underground lot in a huff a few minutes before, barely spoke two words to her as he fiddled with his duffle bag, and now this.

As she let herself into the squad car and settled in the driver’s seat, she muttered, "Well I'm glad _one_ of us is in a great mood."

Sonny made a point of shutting the passenger door gently beside him as he joined her in the car, almost comical in his dramatics. But the look he gave her as he did it, as though he were seeking her approval, it ignited her mounting irritation like gasoline on a fire. She pressed her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth, willing herself to hold onto every sharp sentiment she had in that moment for the sake of the six hours they were about to spend together in impossibly close quarters, the indeterminate time beyond.

Driving through the dark city streets in their stilted silence, passing the gated storefronts and the early morning shuffle of pedestrians, that tight welling of anger began to loosen its grips on her. As she thought about the entire exchange, glancing to Sonny in the passenger seat where he clearly was stewing over something, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the roots of his palms, the fact that she didn't let loose on him restored some faith in her own maternal instincts. Her aptitude for patience was something ever blossoming out from the moment of Jesse's arrival in her life.

They hit New Jersey before she felt up to broaching the subject of his outburst. The sun was hinting its arrival at the horizon, and by then he too seemed a bit more unwound from his tension; awake, slowly losing the sullen teenage affect he'd adopted, straightening himself back up to human in his seat.

She kept her eyes on the road as she spoke, "Feelin' better over there?"

"Yeah," the word was rough and he cleared it from his throat. "Yeah, hey, sorry 'bout that. Earlier. I didn't realize..." he trailed off.

"You have a bad morning? Or...?"

He snorted. "Yeah. Bad morning."

She glanced in his direction, watching as he ran a hand through his hair. She hadn't noticed in the dim parking lot, but now in the pale light of the morning he looked more sleep deprived than she felt. Upon second glance, noticing the dark shadows lining his face, she wondered if he might not have slept at all.

"Did you wanna talk about it?"

"Nah," he said, turning to look out his window once more.

"Alright," she drew out the syllables, hoping the tone might coax him to spill. If not, if he was going to sulk like this all morning, it was going to be a particularly boring drive.

And it was.

They spent the first leg of the drive in complete silence, his thoughts apparently deeply consuming and not worth sharing. She turned on the radio for a bit, but morning talk dominated and she couldn't stand anyone's opinions or stand-up routines at that hour, and so she ultimately turned it back off. Once they hit the Pennsylvania border, they agreed on grabbing a quick bite of breakfast. Amanda pulled off the interstate and into a familiar parking lot, finding her patience tested once again by the note of incredulity in Sonny's voice as he appraised the surroundings.

"Waffle House?"

"Yeah," she struggled with an even tone, struggled not to ask him if he had been withholding a better suggestion in the state Pennsylvania. "Waffle House. Is there something wrong with that?"

He shrugged. "Seems... I dunno, straight forward I guess."

"You've never been to one?" She studied the building, deep in the double-edged twinge of nostalgia that its vision evoked. Every Waffle House looked the pretty much the same with its yellow boxy sign and globe lights dotting the interior, brick facade, chipped plastic booths. It was barely different from the Waffle House back in Loganville where she'd passed countless teenage midnights.

His voice broke her thoughts. "I can't say that I have."

"Well, now you can." She opened her door, then added, "They're all the same. Not the best, but the same. That's the appeal."

"I get it. Nah, anywhere with coffee is good for me. I'm barely hangin' in there."

"Did you have a bad night, too?"

In their approach, he held the restaurant's door open and gestured for her to enter, "You could say that."

 

It wasn't too far into their breakfast when Sonny dropped his bomb into their small-talk.

"So," he cut a segment of his waffle with the side of his fork, "I think I got dumped." Before Amanda could say anything, he added, "I mean I did. Again. Last night, so, yeah," his voice was thick, "sorry about this morning."

"That sucks," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. "Really, I'm sorry. You and Arielle...?"

He slid the small segment of waffle around in its sea of syrup, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. "Ah, no. Not... not _again_ like that. Again like... like s'just my lot in life."

"Well, shit. I'm sorry." She frowned, "I mean, I'm not really a great source of wisdom on the subject of successful relationships." She thought of the few worn letters tucked in her nightstand, her only communication from Declan. All the things she wanted to say to him and had to settle instead for speaking into the silent moments of her evenings. "Now, dumping on the other hand..." she trailed off, raising her brows for effect.

"Ha." He popped his bite of waffle into his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of coffee. "Anyway, so this place is alright," he said, gesturing to his half-eaten plate. "Good choice."

Amanda watched Sonny wolf his food, thinking of all the time she'd spent hanging out at her Waffle House back home. The endless appetites of those teenage boys she'd known and how they'd put down piles of sticky waffles; the taste of syrup and stale coffee on their lips.

"They're everywhere where I'm from," she said, fiddling aimlessly with an empty creamer cup on the table as she spoke, her own eggs and toast long gone. She was eager to get back on the road, but since Sonny was clearly going to take a while, she pressed onward. "So... you gonna tell me what happened?"

He let out a weary sigh. "Oh. It was kinda my fault. I think."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah... I... dunno, I think, well," he cocked his head, "no, I did-- I moved too fast."

"Huh. I mean, that can do it," she offered. "Especially if you've been seeing her for what, it's only been a couple weeks?" She counted back in her head to the case that had torpedoed his relationship with Arielle, and as she thought about that passage of time, she realized that he had seemed generally happier lately. Happier than she'd anticipated in the wake of a failed relationship. He'd seemed more himself than usual, or at least shades of that warm guy, earnest and eager.

That same eagerness was a double-edged sword, however. She'd learned that in quieter, shared moments with him, the few times that dinner and drinks had turned into something more; a bit of blowing off steam. He was attentive to a fault, a fine quality in measure, though he required more assurance than she could stomach in the daylight. She could more than imagine it cooling off a burgeoning relationship.

He met her gaze, his expression steeled over, all self-deprecating humor faded. "Him," he said, quietly, then glanced around as though he'd run the risk of being overheard. "And it's... complicated."

"Oh," she said, taken aback. It was a weighty admission for your average Wednesday breakfast in a rural Waffle House, an admission that wasn't as surprising in nature as it was surprisingly timed. "Oh?"

His mouth flattened into a dark line. "Yeah."

"Oh," she repeated, unsure of the right notes to hit. "I didn't... know." Thoughts overlapped themselves, fragments of sentences jumbling together, all the support she wanted to express and yet, all the space she wanted to give for him to parse it all out.

He held a bite of waffle suspended on his fork, watching strings of syrup dripping back to his plate. "I'm... you're the... the only—well, the first--"

"I get it," she cut in. "Hey, I didn’t mean to cut you off. It’s just… I hope you know you can always talk to me about this stuff."

"Yeah, well, anyway, so it's a shitty day already," he spoke between his last few bites, "and then it's freakin' Thanksgiving tomorrow and instead we're what, chasing after some catfisher in West Virginia?"

She shrugged, slightly relieved for the natural change in topic. "Losing holidays comes with the territory." It's not that she hadn't remembered the date and its significance; she'd kept telling herself she'd make plans with Kim to come over for a meal, but those plans never materialized and then this assignment came up in its place. 

It gave her the freedom to not feel obligated to the holiday, and maybe that's why she'd allowed Fin to beg off so easily, didn't protest being put in his stead. She tried not to let herself think of it that way, because she certainly didn't want to entertain the thought that somehow, subconsciously, she'd wanted this escape.

"I know," he cut into her thoughts, "I just... oh well. Anyway, Ma will have tons of leftovers. She always makes way too much, so at least there's that."

Amanda attempted a knowing smile, but it felt forced. She was thankful that he'd stopped inviting her around to family holidays outright; it was a nice gesture, and truly appreciated, but there was something inherently worse to her about spending the holiday with someone else's lovingly dysfunctional family.

Something about it really drove home the lack in her own.

Still, it was Sonny, and so he couldn't live with himself if he didn't present the idea in some way, if not through an invitation then like this, through explicit hinting. 

"You almost finished?" she asked, aiming to change the topic before the hints became more pointed, "'Cause it's still well over four hours from here."

"That depends on who's driving," he said, flashing a knowing smile.

"That mean you're offering?" She pulled the keys from her pocket and dangled them from a finger.

He reached over their plates and plucked them from her hand. "I thought you'd never ask."

\--

Amanda enjoyed the reprieve from driving as they cut through the wide curves of the interstate. The sky seemed bigger out here, a saturated blue depth unobscured by their usual gridlock and dotted with plush clouds. It looked like something out of a painting, some late autumn Americana where thick roadside brush would give way to rolling farmland, then draw its curtain back over the view.

They crossed the Susquehanna and the Mason-Dixon line; they crossed from Pennsylvania to Maryland, from Maryland to West Virginia, briefly, then into Virginia, then West Virginia again. They traded off driving at truck-stop bathroom breaks, drank trucker coffee black like rocket  fuel and talked about superficial things: sports scores, a text from Amanda’s dog-walker describing Frannie’s morning in great detail, the surprisingly few times Sonny had ever been out of his state. They speculated on what everyone else's’ Thanksgivings were going to look like barring station emergencies: Liv with her new imposed family and what that entailed, Fin with his family, his 94 year-old grandfather that neither could believe he had.

During one stint in the passenger seat, Sonny tried a dozen ways to ask Siri about getting some sort of meal reminiscent of Thanksgiving food around Maysville, but it didn’t seem like restaurants were the area's prime industry. As she drove, listening to him endlessly rephrase the question to Siri's mild confusion, she wondered what it would be like to have been raised like him, deep in the heart of a big city where everything was nearby.

She couldn’t imagine life without the childhood conception of wide open spaces like these, all the homes they passed with acreage, how everything out here was always a long winding drive from conveniences. She’d lived in cities long enough to grow accustomed to the pace of that life, and she fought hard for that understanding to appear natural, but a small part of her thought something was lost in a childhood like his. She wondered how it would affect Jesse, being raised in the city, and certainly not for the last time, what kind of person Jesse would become because of it. Maybe in spite of it.

"I think we're out of luck in the turkey department down here," Sonny said, tapping at his watch to effectively dismiss Siri from the conversation. "Ma usually makes lamb though, but I figured that was even less likely than turkey. I mean, someone's gotta be serving it somewhere, right?"

She glanced over to him, "What's your obsession with Thanksgiving anyway? I've never heard you talk as much about it as you have today."

He shrugged, his expression cloying, and the challenge of it annoyed her.

She pressed on, "I feel like this is all a part of your elaborate plot to convince me to come to your family's Thanksgiving, and I've told you before--”

“Yeah well, what’s the matter with an invitation anyway?” His tone had entirely changed in that moment, bristling, and it reminded her of a cloud passing over those farm fields they'd driven past, the sudden shadow that overcame him.

"Woah," she said, turning back to the road. "Okay then."

"Sorry," he said quickly, but not quick enough to erase the sting of it. "That’s not what I meant."

"So that's... uh, not about me, right?"

“Nope.”

On a hunch, she began, “Did you--”

He cut her off again: “Yup.”

“And is that--?”

“Other things, too,” he said, resigned. “The invitation was just the last straw. Bad timing.”

The way he said it, separated it out, _bad timing_ , made it seem like a direct quote, and she had to swallow an ill-timed smile. The thought of Sonny trying to smother a disagreement with an abundance of food and family, it was so oblivious, and so entirely him.

“I was just really…” he worked his jaw, struggling to find the words. “Happy. I dunno. Comfortable. Everything felt right, finally, and I guess I got caught up in it. Got ahead of myself.”

"Finally? How long's this been going on?" she asked.

He scratched at the back of his neck as he considered the question. "Three weeks or so. But like I said, it's complicated."

"Complicated how?" She couldn't imagine Sonny cheating in a relationship, he whose first family holiday invitation to her had followed in the footsteps of their first time sleeping together, basked in that early morning softness. It's partially why she'd lost the patience for the invitations that followed, the way his face had looked when she drew out the explicit boundaries of their relationship.

Then again, it seemed to be what he was implying, some sort of overlapping timeline.

"It wasn't our first time, I dunno, trying things out."

"Huh. So it was someone you dated before?"

"A while back, for a bit, yeah. And I asked for a key, now. S'what started everything. Started the fight."

"You asked for a key after three weeks together?"

"And everything else! It's not like I just met the guy. I've been spending most nights over there, and frankly it gets kinda old hanging out in his hallway or at the coffee shop down the street if he's running late. And God forbid he has an early court--" he caught the sentence there, halfway out, choking on the final word.

"Court?" She turned to face him briefly, to catch his expression, but he'd turned away to face the passing landscape. "Look, whatever is going on, at least tell me you're not fooling around with a defense attorney."

"Nah," his voice was soft, chastened, and it dissuaded her from making the Buchanan joke she'd readied to lighten the mood.

As she attempted to put together the logic puzzle at hand, a man with late nights and court dates, a memory struck her suddenly. It was a joke Dodds had once made, and the sound of his voice as she remembered it was a sharp twist in her chest. He'd been expressing his frustration at Sonny's then-apparent lack of dedication to the force on an afternoon when they couldn't get ahold of him, and Dodds had pointed out in the moment that they “could set their watches by Carisi's lengthy visits to the DA's office."

"No way," the words slipped out. "Barba?" She glanced over once more to find that he'd not moved an inch, his gaze still planted firmly on the rolling hills. His silence filled the car, an answer unto itself. "Wow," she murmured.

The revelation seeped into her understanding of Sonny, how he'd become so distant and moody lately, quick to anger. How you once could light a room with his expression whenever Barba set foot in the precinct, that admiration and awe made palpable. The contrast was stark now; the two were rarely found in agreement anymore. Mostly they'd seemed weary in each other’s' presence.

Admittedly, as she thought about it, they’d seemed to soften to each other recently, but it was nothing like those early days. And there was more to Sonny's moods, too. She had theories, ones that she wouldn't be the person to articulate. Maybe better than most, she knew there were some journeys you had to undertake alone.

Still, she didn't really know what to make of this, their entire history more complicated than she likely understood. "Look," she said finally, "I'm gonna tell you something, and I'm saying this not as your partner but as your friend," she glanced over to him, and he met her gaze for a moment. "If someone dumps you because you like them too much? Because you want them to meet your family? Then it's not worth... whatever this is."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I mean there's more to it, sure. But it kinda boils down to that, and I guess you're right."

She started to say something about the right person accepting that kind of invitation, but bit down on the instinct, again not knowing if she were the right one to deliver that sentiment.

Quiet settled over the car in the wake of the admission, and Amanda flicked the radio on to some country station full of men crooning about their trucks and all they'd lost. The passing scenery cast glints and shadows over their faces. Maysville was about twenty minutes down the road according to the last sign she'd seen, half obscured in tall grass and brush, and she could reasonably tolerate country radio for just about twenty minutes.

\---

Heather had been an easy arrest that afternoon, teetering on the edge of pride in what she'd wrought from her dusty old laptop. The sight of her soured Amanda immediately, some little nobody perched in her floral bedroom writing disasters into other people’s lives like she were a novelist, like they were her collection of characters. Watching Heather pepper Chuck, the arresting officer, with questions as he led her down the stone path of the front yard, Amanda wondered what would happen to Mrs. Purcell, and then, what would happen to her own mother if the same fate befell her. Who would take care of her if she fell ill? It was a question she spent much of the afternoon trying to bury.

Chuck made plans to meet them at the local sports bar in walking distance of their motel afterward to "shoot the shit with some big city cops." Being on this side of that phrase gave Amanda a strange welling of pride, one that she felt halfway ashamed of entertaining. He mentioned that the place was a local hangout too, and that likely if they needed to talk to character witnesses, most people in town near Heather's age would have gone to high school with her. Being that it was the most popular night of the year for drinking, most everyone who'd escaped their podunk past being home for the holiday and having spent just enough time with their family to require distraction, Amanda figured they could hit the place early and scope out the patrons.

The building itself appeared to have weathered a few decades of storms and shoddy repairs with its torn sidings and splotchy paint, but then so did a lot of the architecture around there, and it was such a familiar sight in a way Amanda could barely articulate. Inside though it was all warm lighting and wood paneling with large televisions dotting the bar. That was what mattered after all, she thought. You didn't need to try hard to attract a crowd if you were the only place in town.

"Two dollar beers," Sonny exclaimed as he set down a green bottle in front of Amanda at their table and took the seat beside her. "Can you believe this? And it's not swamp water beer either, this isn't half bad." He took a sip as if to illustrate.

"What, you mean they're all outta swamp water?" She leaned into him, laying her accent on thick, "What kinda two-bit establishment is this?"

"Yeah, yeah," he smiled into his drink. "Don't get all twangy with me. It's like a foreign language."

She scoffed. "Yeah, you're one to talk. Anyway," she nodded towards a man at the bar, "What do you think?" He was shaggy-haired and knobbly at the joints, the kind of guy who looked so at-home on his stool that you might think he was erected with the building itself. "A classmate?"

Sonny shot her a quizzical look. "Him?"

"How 'bout them?" she glanced towards two older women, a bit overdressed for the ambiance of the place in their gold jewelry and pumps, shuffling around a dart board hung by the window, just convincing enough to stake a claim of it, but never actually tossing one.

He followed her gaze and studied the scene, watching them admire the board from different angles, giggling and sipping at colorful drinks. "Y'think they're gonna actually play? That could be hazardous."

She smirked. The place itself, Barrels, it could have been lifted from her own past, some sort of wrinkle in her timeline that put the same place in different locations. She recognized every person, every action and its desired reaction: the women like props, angling for a couple'a good ol' boys to come teach them how to play darts for the millionth first time, the alcoholics that lived on their stools, lived on the mercy of the bartenders who knew them.

Just then, a youngish guy sidling up to the bar caught her attention, and she thought the jingling bells on the door must have signaled his entrance a moment ago. She leaned her head back as she took a swig, eavesdropping as he began to chat with the blonde girl wiping down glasses behind the bar.

"Come on Betsy, you gotta cover for me," he whined, and she could almost imagine the doe-eyed smile that'd accompany a plea like that. "I'll be like twenty minutes, tops. I gotta drop off momma's prescriptions, you know how it is." Whatever Betsy said in response must have been affirmative, because he drawled, "You're a real peach."

Once she heard the bells jingle again, she signaled to Sonny who'd still been eyeing the ladies and their darts. "I'm gonna talk to the bartender a sec, see if she knows Heather."

\---

A cold winter's night had overtaken Maysville as they tumbled out of the front door of Barrels breathless and giddy, high on adrenaline and two dollar beers, throbbing knuckles, ragged pride.

"Holy shit," Sonny breathed the words out, half choked with laughter, as he leaned over his knees in the parking lot. "Holy shit," he repeated, and cackled. "You clocked that guy!"

Her heart racked against her ribs in heavy throbs, alcohol and adrenaline fighting each other for the reins as she breathed deep. One second they'd been shooting the shit, the next second some good ol' boy threw a punch at Sonny over some spilled beer, and here they were, a couple'a troublemakers wheezing in the parking lot like teenagers. She was flooded with all the times she'd been here before, gripped in the heat of a bad decision, faces obscured in the pitch dark of night without streetlights, the way the stars seemed overwhelming in their vastness. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't a goddamn thrill.

"Me? What about you? Wait, shit," she stopped, suddenly sobered from their reverie, "our tab."

Sonny glanced at the building behind her, "Nah," he cleared his throat, "Chuck'll cover us."

"Sonny, we can't go all fight club and then skip out on our tab. Look, I'll only be a minute--"

"Well let me do it then," he offered, patting his back pocket for a wallet.

She raised a brow, "You don't think I can handle it?"

He smirked, "Be my guest, Mayweather."

Amanda slid through the doors of the bar once more, careful not to catch the attention of the men nursing their wounds at a back table. From what it looked like, their stunt had earned them a fair amount of coddling from their dates and waitresses, and so perhaps a favor was paid after all.

She approached an empty side of the bar and waved down Buck, whose face exploded into beaming admiration when he caught sight of her.

"That's a helluva right hook you got there ma'am," he said in his approach, bracing his palms on the bar and leaning into her space. "It's not often we see the cops starting the fights." He glanced over her shoulder, and following his gaze she saw Chuck propped in chair and dozing, head tucked down against his soft chest.

"Yeah, well," she drawled, pulling her wallet from her pocket, "I'm real sorry for troublin' y'all tonight."

Buck grinned. "It was no trouble at all. Seriously, stop, I gotcha."

"Come on," she drew a few bills and placed them on the bartop.

"Really," he said, sliding them back towards her. "It's the least I can do to repay you for the entertainment." He leaned in conspiratorially, whispered, "Anyway, Craig deserved it."

Her fingers brushed his as she pushed the money once more in his direction, the touch lingering as she drew closer still, until she could smell the mint on his breath. "I insist."

He feigned resignation as he pulled back. "Alright, alright, you win, I submit. But I'm only takin' it cause I've seen what you do to guys you disagree with."

She watched him retreat, admiring the youthfully unkempt vision of him as he punched the buttons on their register and drew a few crumpled bills in change. In another life she could have known him; she knew half a dozen guys who fit his description back home, guys who could deliver the same lines with equally calculated mischief.

 He scribbled something on the receipt and brought it back to her, leaning in as he slid the change to her.

"Here ya go," he said, "And I wrote my number down in case, I dunno, maybe you're inclined to offer lessons or something."

She laughed, "You tellin' me you don't know how to throw a right hook?"

"Oh I got a lot of moves," he wagged his brow, "just could use some practice, you know?"

"Good lord," she breathed. "What a line."

His expression was devilish as he pulled back from the bar, "Well, anyway, I do hope to hear from ya."

 

Back outside, Sonny had taken to sitting on a curb, still chuckling to himself. The drinks had painted a flush high on his cheeks, one that she felt mirrored on her own, though hers was less alcohol and more in anticipation of the night to come.

"Ready, cowboy?"

"We good?" he asked as he heaved himself up to standing.

"Well we probably should get outta here before those guys decide to head home, but yeah."

"Ah, we can take 'em, right?"

Their laughter echoed as they walked the short distance from bar to motel, giddy in their recounting of each move like choreography, the thrill of letting loose for an evening. Amanda slowed her gait as she came across the skewed gold numbers of her room.

"And this is where I get off," she said as she began to pull out her room key, the motel itself nowhere near the century that used card technology.

"You know," Sonny said as he paced a sloppy circle before honing in on the doorway, "there's something nice about not having to always act like a cop."

"Yeah," she agreed.

He braced an elbow on the door jamb, "We coulda taken all those guys, you know?"

"Oh yeah," she leaned back in the doorway, taking in the sight of Sonny so unwound, lidded eyes and goofy smile. "I know we could."

"You know what? You're a helluva partner." He pressed the jacket he'd been holding into her arm, a pointed movement, and she began to recognize the intent, the posture, the sloppy expression.

"You too," she said idly, brushing his shoulder, the cool leather.

"Nah," he said, shaking his head, "You've got my back, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate that."

She watched the depth of the day play over his face, all the things he'd said to her, how much whatever little she provided in response had clearly meant to him.

However, as if to dispel her notion that it had anything to do with that, he continued in a pitchy tone, "And not just tonight."

For a second she thought he forgot himself entirely as he leaned in, the minute movement itself a question she didn't know the answer to. She was enveloped in the scent of cheap beer entwined with his aftershave, warm and familiar.

Their pattern, this, had faded not long after it had started, not long after she'd defined the boundaries of it, relegated it to a bit of fun only. Even still she was still halfway tempted, tilting in toward his approach despite herself, raising a brow as if to echo the question back to him. _Really?_

Truthfully, if they hadn't had the talks they did, she might have entertained the thought willingly; if he hadn't bared his fresh heartbreak, she wouldn't be able to pinpoint the exact ache he was trying to mute with this. With her.

He lingered there in the moment before, and a sense of hesitation washed over his face, doubt melting into some sort of self-deprecating chuckle. She turned away from him then, in part to hide her second-hand embarrassment, in part to hide her own.

"I'm beat," she offered, hoping it was an easy out for the both of them.

"Yeah," he said, smiling in spite of the brush off. "Yeah, I should ah, get goin'." He thumbed over his shoulder, laughing still.

She placed a hand on his shoulder once more, hoping it would impart the things she didn't want to say: that it would only be awkward if they chose that road. "Okay," was all she could muster. "Okay, night."

Inside her room, surrounded by the dim yellowed wallpaper lit by table lamps, Amanda sat on the starched floral comforter of her bed and replayed the moment, all she could have done differently. She slid her phone from her pocket, surprised to find it devoid of any sort of communication from Sonny; no apology, no clarification.

She drew the crumpled receipt she'd saved from her other pocket and considered the scribbled numbers, the sly grin that accompanied them, the way life was too damn short to wonder sometimes. She entered them into her phone, and thumbed a pithy message about lessons she'd be willing to offer. A bit hypocritical, in that Buck was a means to mute an ache too, sure. But he'd also welcome the doorway in the morning, and tonight that was all she needed.

\---

Sonny picked up his phone on the third ring. "Carisi." His voice was gruff, the product of the night before, she figured.

"Good morning," she said, leaning against the closed door of her room. Her voice was still a bit thick with sleep as she asked, "How you holdin' up?" Her own knuckles felt raw, and her eyes were tight with ache. She'd meant to drink a few glasses of water before falling asleep, but she'd been well distracted from the endeavor.

"Fine," he replied, and she wondered if his shortness could be attributed to embarrasment.

"Alright. That's good." A beat of silence passed before she added, "I'm good too, thanks for askin'."

"Heather waived extradition," he said, "I got word from Chuck, so. Whenever you're ready, we can pick her up."

"She did?"

"Says she's excited to see New York."

Amanda cringed. "She could have booked a tour if that's all she wanted."

"Yeah, well. Whenever you're... ready." He emphasized the last word, and she felt like there was an implication she was meant to understand.

"Alright Sonny," she said, uncertain. "I'll be out in fifteen. Did you wanna grab something to eat before we pick up Heather?"

"I got coffees and donuts already," he replied. "I-- I've got yours. I'll meet you at the car."

She started to say goodbye, but realized he'd already hung up. She stared at the phone in her hand, wondering if her brush-off had really soured things between them. As she considered the notion, that familiar sense of irritation began to mount in her stomach, the audacity of the implication that it was somehow her fault that he'd forgotten their rules.

Her phone buzzed in her hand then and she glanced at the notification.

_u think ur ever comin back to town?_

Buck.

Amanda slid the phone in her pocket, entirely sobered now from the flirty goodbye they'd shared moments ago. She wondered then if maybe Sonny had bought those donuts in some sort of conciliatory effort, because of course he would, but she never heard a knock. If he'd tried to bring them around, maybe he'd have encountered Buck as she said goodbye.

Outside in the parking lot, the November air was cold against her skin. She caught sight of Sonny, sitting in the squad car, where steam rose in tufts from its exhaust pipe. He was staring intently at some point unseen, a crumpled bakery bag tossed on the dashboard, and a styrofoam cup of coffee was set beside it. 

The sight of him unnerved her, the thought that he bore any ill will because of how she chose to spend an evening. She pulled open the trunk and tossed her bag inside, and the metallic shot of sound that followed as she slammed it startled them both. It was not lost on her then how childish the move had been, but fuck it. If it was good enough punctuation for him, his frustration, it was good enough for her.

Once she'd settled in the passenger seat, Sonny handed her the white paper bag.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he said flatly.

She stared hard at the line of motel doors before them, the stark contrast of black on white. It struck her that this wasn't unlike so many Thanksgivings gone by, rife with that undercurrent of resentment, underpinned with all the things no one dared to say. She wanted to thank him for continuing the tradition, but patience, or some desire to have the upper hand, won out.

The entire drive home was excruciating. Six hours spent sandwiched between Sonny's pouty silence and Heather's inane questions about city life, as though Amanda was her tour guide and not her arresting officer. As though she was headed to meet the Monster as some sort of VIP experience, and not as the woman who ruined his life. Ruined two lives. Three lives, all told. As though she didn't quite comprehend what end all of this was leading her to.

Amanda was used to it by now with a sister like Kim; they were the same brand of obstinate, hell-bent on living in their willful oblivions, immune to things that didn't go their way. It was a defense mechanism, of course, born out of the fact that nothing ever did quite go their way, and so they relied on what they excelled at: manipulating the narrative.

\---

Back at the station, Amanda endured a few days of the sullen silent treatment from Sonny before she snapped. She could only figure the change was his lame attempt at asserting some sort of misdirected jealousy, and it was a tiresome dynamic to withstand, all the pointed single-word answers he dropped at her feet. 

The final straw had been broken when she’d invited him to lunch, same as she often did, and he’d declined, looking everywhere but her eyes until she finally said it in so many words: the things they’d done together weren’t contractual, didn’t preclude her from seeking other avenues of enjoyment. That she was the same kind of human as he was, period.

And so, as she unwrapped her sandwich at the break room table that afternoon, Amanda was unsurprised to feel the weight of a set of eyes on her. Anticipating the awkward conversation to follow, she chose not to address them. He'd taken it quietly, her confrontation, and as she left him in the bullpen to grab her lunch he still looked somber, so she was less than eager to hear whatever this was going to be.

 When Sonny slid into the seat across from her, she kept her eyes trained on her food.

“So you were right,” he said, leaning in to try and catch her eye as he spoke. “And I’m sorry.”

“Hm.” She took a bite, slow to meet his gaze. She watched the muscles playing in his face as he worked through the words.

“I mean it. I do. All the stuff you said, you were right.”

She blinked, maintaining her neutral expression. It’s not that he was a bad guy for all the pouty silence, the implication of it. She knew the opposite to be generally true of him, his nature. It’s that by now her tolerance for the same mistakes of well-meaning guys was over-worn; a stringy, pinned-together sort of thing. She was tired of walking them through it, as though it was her responsibility to help them understand that agency was a two-way street.

“Look, I uh-- I should’a seen it all sooner. But I was checkin’ out Heather’s internet presence, right?" She furrowed her brow, confused as to how Heather Purcell played into it. He held up a hand, "Hear me out, alright? So Heather is a lonely kid. Woman. And I mean, no surprise there. It doesn’t excuse any of this, but it explains it, you know? But, I dunno, it was kinda scary. I saw myself in some of it. The…” he trailed off, searching the air for a word. “The bitterness.”

Amanda chewed another bite slowly. It certainly wasn’t what she expected.

“And the jealousy,” he laid out his palm, “when it works out easy for someone else, you know?”

“Easy?” The question sounded sharper than she'd meant it to be.

“No, look, I’m not sayin’ I think you’ve got it easy--”

She cut in, “So you think I make it look hard, is what you’re saying.”

“Jesus, Amanda,” he set an elbow on the table and rubbed his brow against his palm. “No, hold on, look--”

“I’m kidding, Sonny.” She reached over and bumped his forearm. “I’m kidding. I get it, okay?”

He didn’t look up. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, I’m sorry.”

“And I accept. So we’re cool?”

“Yeah?” He lifted his head, meeting her gaze again. He looked sorrier than she’d anticipated, maybe on the precipice of bigger feelings, and she felt at once compelled to change the subject.

“So how’re you gonna fix things with Barba?”

“Huh?" The abrupt turn flustered him, and he glanced around furtively. Quieter, he said, "Ah-- that’s pretty well shot, don’t you think?”

“Why? Cause you got drunk and lonely and tried to pick up a pretty lady to get your mind off things?”

He grimaced. “Sure. To start with, yeah.”

“People make mistakes,” she said with a shrug. “Like you said, loneliness is a hell of a motivator. It can make you do a lot of things. Some of ‘em are dumb,” she gestured to him, “case in point. Right? And some of them are downright malicious, hateful, like our girl Heather."

"Some of them though…” she wrinkled her nose, “are done with a mind for... protection. Self-defense. Like... shoring up your walls.”

He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

“Look. You had your journey and you found your way back home, maybe that’s what it feels like, right?"

His expression was indescribably tender as he gave a soft nod. "Yeah. No, exactly."

"So you got caught up in feeling happy, like you said. Just… y'know, don’t lose sight of what it’s like to have been the empty house in that story. The waiting house.”

It wasn’t a metaphor she’d cop to willingly; and besides, between her and Jesse and Frannie, their house was nowhere near empty. Still, it was a recycled sentiment, one that had come to her in the wake of one of those scant letters from Declan, the promises he made to his daughter's future, the persistent worry its arrival had awoken in her that Jesse would ever want more of her father’s presence. She didn’t believe in it, that Jesse was missing something fundamental without him, not really. But you couldn’t help but wonder sometimes about those unknowable truths of the universe, about how a kid would grow up despite your best efforts.

“Huh,” Sonny said, picking idly at a scratch on the table. “That’s pretty deep.”

"Like I said, I have a well of experience when it comes to reasons for dumping people."

"Ha."

She leaned in, "But especially when it's to keep 'em at a safe distance." It was about as vulnerable as she was comfortable getting, and so she pulled back, "Anyway, if things are like you said, if you were half as happy as you seemed lately, it just seems like maybe you came on strong. Maybe try and meet him halfway?"

"Yeah," he said, though it was an uncertain word, and he looked like he had half a mind to pry into her previous sentiment.

So she did what she did best: shored up her walls. "So, what exactly did you find on Heather?"

\---

"Here it comes!" Amanda twirled the small plastic spoon in the air, weaving it back and forth before landing it in Jesse's mouth. "Yum," she cooed, wiping at the stray bit that dribbled down her chin. "That's yummy, right?"

Jesse's smile was coy as she bounced her head. A knock on the door interrupted the moment.

"Who could that be, Jesse?"

She shook her head wildly, beaming.

Amanda stood up and made sure the food was set a safe distance away from Jesse before venturing to the door. She glanced in the peephole, overwhelmed with fondness at the sight of Sonny, maybe more so for the brown paper bag he was toting.

"Hey there Uncle Sonny," she said to him as she ushered him in the doorway, dressed in his thick winter coat. "We were just having dinner, what a lovely surprise."

"Good evening ladies," he said as he hefted the brown bag onto the kitchen island. "What a coincidence, 'cause I just happened to bring some dinner. All the way from Staten Island."

Amanda followed behind. "What do we think of that, Jesse?"

Jesse squealed in her seat as Frannie lumbered in to see what the fuss was about. She sniffed around his feet and ankles, and he leaned down to ruffle her ears.

"It's good to see you too, Frannie. And Jesse," he added. He began to pile Tupperware dishes on the island from his bag, describing each as he went. "This is some of Ma's lamb, so good. Aunt Marta's green bean casserole," he wagged the bowl, "It's alright. Not my favorite, but it's... alright. Oh and Teresa always makes this, a stuffed turkey breast dish, cause you can't have Thanksgiving without turkey. Ma says you can, but, there's no arguing with Teresa. This one is Aunt Nicola's pumpkin soup. Kinda sweet, kinda spicy, just like her really."

It was a truly heartwarming display to watch him lay out the meal, the almost-comical abundance of it. Each dish came with a qualifier, a contributing family member, an anecdote about its origins.

"And pumpkin pie," he said as he set a final container down, flattening the empty paper bag. "Cause you actually can't have Thanksgiving without that."

"Pumpkin pie," Amanda said to Jesse, "That sounds pretty good, huh?"

His watch buzzed then, and he smiled at whatever he'd received.

"So are we gonna start heating this up?" she asked, investigating a bowl with a blue lid, the thick orange liquid it contained.

"I... actually can't stay. I hope that's okay."

She hadn't expected it, and the surprise must have been written on her face.

"I'm sorry," he held up a hand, "I just wanted to make sure I got this all to you while it was relatively fresh."

"It's cool, Sonny. More for me and Jesse," she glanced to her daughter, "right?"

"Yeah...I—um. Well," he tried again, and then as if struck by a thought, he thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a keyring, singling out a small silver key and holding it up for inspection. "I took your advice."

"Oh?" She leaned into the kitchen island, "Yeah?"

"Yeah." A smile blossomed on his face, brilliant and shining. "Yeah, I-- guess I listened instead of talking."

"Imagine that," she said. "No, literally, I can't."

He smirked. "Yeah. Well. Thank you all the same."

She waved a hand.

"I'm serious, Amanda. I meant it when I said you've always got my back. That it means a lot to me. Even if I chose a... poor way to say it."

"We're partners," she said simply, as though it explained everything.

"We're friends," he added. "And I'm grateful."

"Well I won't keep you," she straightened back to standing as he received another message on his watch that deepened his smile. "God," she muttered, "I don't think anyone's ever looked that happy to get a message from Barba."

It was strange to think that someone like Barba, all bristling bravado, could inspire all of this, the flush on Sonny’s cheek, the way he practically glowed with it as he rubbed the key idly between his thumb and forefinger. Though, maybe she understood a little; she'd toed the line with a few guys like that and never quite lost the taste for the type: so quick-witted and self-possessed that they could weave webs around you before you even took notice of them. And to render one of them speechless, to capture the entirety of his attention -- that kind of power could be intoxicating.

"Hey," he turned back to her, "You don't--"

"I do," she said, a sweet sort of sharpness to her tone. "Trust me. It's... weird." He made a face, and she continued, "But it's nice. It... I dunno, it makes sense. Go on, I don't want you to watch me scarf all of this at once."

"Well you gotta tell me what you think," he said as she walked him to the door. "Even if you don't like some of it. Like the casserole, for instance."

"I will, Sonny. You know you can count on me for opinions."

"Well, have a good evening," he said, pulling her into a quick hug. "Bye Jesse," he called over her shoulder, and received a friendly screech in response.

"Happy Thanksgiving," Amanda said as she pulled back from the hug. She hadn’t intended to say it but the words slipped out; the moment, albeit somewhat removed from the actual holiday, seemed to warrant the expression. It was truthfully among the nicest she’d had in a lifetime of them, all the spoils of a loving labor laid out to share with her little family there, just them. She was grateful for it, more than she’d ever be willing to articulate.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always! Your (continued) support means the world to me <3


End file.
